August 1932

Morocco

"I don't want to leave," Rose said, letting herself fall against Jack. He enveloped her in a tight embrace. "Me either," he said. He took a deep breath, loving the way the hot, dry air felt in his lungs. "Do you feel alright?" she asked, turning to face him over her shoulder. He kissed her forehead. "I'm fine. Don't worry." He took another deep breath. "See? Lungs are all clear."

"I'm worrying too much, aren't I?"

"No. I'd be even worse if it was you." Jack touched her face. She smiled and leaned into his hand. For a moment he was sure she could see him, her eyes, still so bright, seemed to be fixed on his, but the moment passed and once again they were unfocused and sightless. After seven years he should have been used to her blindness, but he wasn't. A part of him never would be. There was no reason for it. One day she had been fine, and the next—He pushed the memory away. There was no sense in dwelling on it. "You are worried about me," she said, laying her hand on his. "I can feel it in your eyes. Tell me what's wrong, Jack."

"Nothing." He made his tone as light as possible. "I'm just sorry to be leaving so soon."

"So soon? We've been here almost two years."

"Longest we've ever been anywhere."

"What about Santa Monica? We were there for a few years. And we're going back there," she added. "So doesn't that count?"

"Yeah, I guess it does." He sighed. "I'm just gonna miss being here."

She squeezed his fingers. "So am I."

Wellesley, Massachusetts

Dylan slid into his usual chair in the corner. The café was nearly empty, just the way he liked it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook. Humming, he flipped it open and grabbed the pencil he kept tucked behind his ear. He glanced around, his sharp green eyes taking in everything, before settling in to draw the couple near the window. Their body language screamed for him to capture it. He had just finished a small sketch when someone sat down in the chair opposite him. He looked up, still humming. "Well, hello," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Eva rolled her eyes. "You see me here every day," she said, lighting a cigarette. "What are you working on now?" He held up his sketch. She nodded her approval. "Very nice. As usual."

"Don't hurt yourself with the praise," he said.

"Oh, you know how talented you are," she said, blowing a smoke ring. "You don't need me to tell you. I—" Her face drained of its color. "What's wrong?" he asked. She stared at the window wearing the expression of someone who had been slapped. "Eva?" He touched her hand. "Are you—" She jerked away. "Don't touch me," she whispered.

"Why—"

"Don't move. Don't speak." Slowly she stood up. "Just pretend as though nothing is happening," she said. He turned to watch her go. "Don't look at me," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Please," she added, softening her tone slightly. He waited until he heard the door close behind her to turn around. She hurried across the street, her slick black hair shining in the afternoon sun. Her meticulously arranged finger waves just barely moved in the breeze. Dylan's curiosity intensified when she stopped next to a tall, black haired man. "Who is that?" he wondered. "What are they saying?" He waited until they had walked away, he staring straight ahead, his jaw set, she with her head bowed slightly and shoulders drooping, before he left.

He could hear the phone ringing even before he made it up the stairs to his apartment. He crashed through the door just in time to answer it. "Hello?" he said breathlessly, hoping it was Eva. "Oh. Hi Mom….Next week? Do you know when? Okay. So I'll see you next Thursday then. Uh-huh. Yes. Of course I'm drawing."

Morocco

"He sounded disappointed," Rose said as she hung up the phone. "Why would he be disappointed?" Jack asked. "I think he was expecting someone else," she said, a mischievous note creeping into her voice.

"You don't think? He doesn't have a girl, does he?"

Rose shrugged. "He hasn't told me if he does, but it sure sounded like it."

"How do you know what that would sound like?"

"Well, I remember what you sounded like when we first met."

"I sound different now?"

She laughed softly. "No." He wrapped his arms around her waist. "You sound exactly the same." She sighed happily as he pressed his lips to her neck. "Jack…" His hands slid up her stomach until he was cupping her breasts. She shivered despite the heat. He smiled into her neck. "Are you cold? I thought it was a bit warm in here actually." She turned to face him. "As if you don't know what you're doing." Her voice was thick with desire. She wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands rested on her waist. She pulled him into a deep kiss.

Now it was his turn to sigh. Her body was pressing against his; she stroked the back of his neck with one hand and twisted his hair through the fingers of the other. Giggling, she pulled away from the kiss. "You don't want me, do you?"

"Me? Want you?" He moved to reclaim her lips. "What could possibly give you that idea?" She slipped a hand between them. He sucked in his breath as her fingertips grazed him through his pants. "Rose." It was more of a groan than a word. "I don't know where I could have gotten that idea," she teased, moving her hand away. He pulled her closer. "I always want you," he said softly, brushing his lips across her throat. "Even after twenty years?" she said. "You don't find me boring yet?"

He pressed himself into her hand. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a disgrace how overdressed you are."

He swung her up into his arms. She unbuttoned his shirt as he carried her into the bedroom. She ran her hands across his chest; over the years his muscles had grown more and more well-defined. She grabbed the top of his pants as he laid her down. "What happened to your doubts about my wants?" he teased. He slipped the top of her dress off her shoulders. She pulled the rest of it off and tossed it aside. Her answer was lost in a kiss. She closed her eyes and let her hands move across his body. She knew every inch of him by heart, but somehow it always felt like she was discovering him for the first time. It didn't matter that she couldn't see him, or at least it didn't matter anymore. It had taken some time for them to get over that particular hurdle. Jack had been afraid to touch her at all for the first few months after she lost her sight.

Rose wrapped her legs around Jack's hips. He slid his hands under her back. She hugged him to her as he leaned back, pulling her up and into his lap.

Wellesley, Massachusetts

One Week Later

"I still hate ships," Rose said. She tightened her grip on Jack's hand as they stepped onto the dock. She could hear the crowd moving around her; their voices blended in her ears and all the languages became one indecipherable noise. "We're safe on dry land now," Jack said. "You don't have to worry." He scanned the crowd. He grinned as his eyes landed on a familiar blonde head. "Dylan!" he called.

"Where?" Rose asked.

"He's comin."

"How does he look?"

"As much like you as ever."

"He looks like you. He has your hair."

"It's almost red in the sun. And he has your eyes."

"Are you two going on about who I look like again?" Dylan said. They answered in unison, Jack with a "Yes" and Rose with a "No." Dylan shook his head. "And I'm guessing we'll have to hear this same argument when we see Lily?"

"What argument?" Jack said. "Lily looks like your mother. That's the end of it."

"That—" Jack kissed her temple. She shot him a half smile. "Was not fair," she finished. "That was not fair at all, Jack." He feigned confusion. "A kiss? What's unfair about that?"

"Alright, let's go," Dylan said, "before you two really get into this. Lily's waiting." He actually didn't mind listening to their bantering. They had been doing it for as long as he could remember, and it had always made him feel good to hear it. They didn't fight; not once had he or Lily ever heard them fight. When they were children he and Lily had believed they never disagreed. Raised voices didn't exist in their family, and the anger they had often seen the fathers of other children express most definitely didn't exist in their father. Of course, now that he was an adult, Dylan was sure there had been disagreements and perhaps even a few fights, but as he watched them together it was impossible not to see the love they had for each other. Jack guided Rose through the streets, describing everything as they went. Rose held his hand in both of hers more out of a desire to be close to him than a fear of getting separated from him.

I wonder, Dylan thought, if Eva and I can ever be like that.

…..

Lily slowly stirred her coffee. She had one hand on the spoon and the other on her book. She was bent over, her flaming curls creating a short curtain between her and the rest of the world. Her hair, once a smart bob, had just begun to touch her shoulders, and the curls she had spent the last three years carefully ironing flat every morning were back in full force. She didn't care though; in fact some days she barely even noticed she had hair at all. There were so many more important things to think about.

She glanced up as the bell over the door rang. Dylan led the way followed closely by their parents. Jack and Rose were giggling, and it was most likely over something only they understood. Shaking her head, she caught Dylan's eye. He shrugged. She shoved her book in her bag and stood up. The round of hugs earned them more than a few curious glances, but they didn't care.

"How was Morocco?" Lily asked. "Amazing," Jack and Rose said in unison. They leaned toward each other, overcome by another giggling fit. "Stop talking when I want to talk," Rose said. Jack assumed an apologetic air. "I'm sorry, miss." She shoved him playfully. "I thought we weren't doing that anymore?" she said.

"We aren't? When was that decided?"

Lily and Dylan exchanged glances. "So, are you glad to be back?" he said. Rose turned to face him. "What? Oh, well, we're glad to see you," she said, laying one hand on his and the other on Lily's. "We missed you." She gave them each a quick squeeze. "If only you could have seen it. But tell us about you. What have the two of you been up to?"

"Well, I—" Lily stopped. Was it the right time to tell them? How could there be a right time? She could hear their reaction already; there was no need to make the disappointment ringing in her head real. So instead she told a story about one of the girls in her dormitory, a harmless anecdote she had actually played no part in though in this version she was center stage. She felt Dylan glance at her out of the corner of his eye. Shut up, she thought. I don't hear you making any announcements.

…..

"I wish we could stay with them longer," Rose said. "We could," Jack offered. "We don't have to go home yet. We don't really have to do anything," he added, grinning slightly. "No, I want to go home," she said. "And they have their own lives, which is to be expected." She sighed. "When did they grow up?" He pulled her closer. "They snuck off and did it while we weren't looking," he replied. She laid her head on his shoulder. "How rude of them."

He chuckled. "I'll have a word with them, miss."

"Oh don't bother. Just tell me where we are. I don't hear anything."

"There's not much to hear," he said. "I'm afraid we've reached one of those boring little side streets no-one ever walks on."

"You don't think anything is boring. That's a lie. So tell me about it."

"It's small," he said, "and narrow. The buildings are all close together, and some of them look as though they're holding each other up. The signs need to be repainted and…." Rose lost herself in the picture he created. "It sounds lovely," she said when he paused for breath. I wish you could see it, he thought. She squeezed his hand. "I see it better through your eyes than I ever could through mine." His reply was a kiss on top of her head.

"You really aren't going to tell me what happened?" Dylan said. "You disappear for a week, and you won't explain why?" Eva flicked the end of her cigarette into the grass. Lighting another one, she said, "I'm back now. Isn't that enough? What more do you want?" There was an edge in her voice. She smiled, hoping to deflect some of the harshness. "It doesn't have anything to do with you," she added. "So if that's what you're worried about, don't."

"That wasn't it," he said, fixing her with his gaze. Lily was the one with Jack's eyes, but Dylan had his stare, the one that always seemed to look right through a person. Eva turned away. "I don't see a reason to keep talking about it in that case," she said. "So you might as well ask me what you were going to ask me."

"I want you to meet my family."

"I've already met Lily. She introduced us, remember?"

"Yeah, of course I remember." How could he forget? It had been at of his sister's parties, one of the last she threw before deciding such things were frivolous and bourgeoisie; it was, he concluded, just before she decided fun was counterrevolutionary. Eva had sat alone in the corner, a cigarette clenched between her fingers. Her dress had been what first caught his attention. It was the latest fashion from Paris, and it made her stick out like a gaudy thumb in a small, shabby room filled with equally small and shabby people. It was only later he learned it was not the latest thing, but rather a very cleverly made copy. All of her clothes were copies. There were unemployment lines stretching across town, and Eva somehow managed to glide by each one draped in silk. "I don't mean Lily," he said. "I'm talking about the rest of my family."

"I thought your parents were in Guinea chasing some tribe or other."

"They were in Morocco collecting art for museums, and they're back now. They aren't staying long though. In fact, they're leaving tomorrow."

"Where are they going?"

"Home."

"Where you grew up?"

"I guess you could say that."

"You either can or you can't, so which is it?"

"You always have to get right to the point don't you?" he asked.

"What else is there?" She blew a series of smoke rings. "You're either getting to the point and therefore getting somewhere or you're avoiding it and getting nowhere," she observed. He touched her hand. "There's so much more. Eva, there's a whole world more than that," he said. She let her fingers curl around his. "That's funny. I've never seen it."

He lightly touched her cheek with his thumb. "I could show you."

…..

"So tell me again where you grew up," Eva said. "Los Angeles?"

"Santa Monica to be exact, but I didn't really grow up there. We lived there the longest though, and my parents are going back."

"Why there?" She paused to look at herself in a store window. One of her waves was threatening mutiny. She licked her thumb and pressed it flat against her head. Dylan watched her, torn between curiosity and amusement. "You look fine," he said. She smoothed her dress. "I don't," she said, shaking her head. "I should've—"

"Don't worry about it." He took her hand. "You're beautiful." She stared at him as though she were hearing those words for the first time.

Jack leaned in so his mouth was almost touching Rose's ear. "There's a woman across the room with an entire bird on her head." She snorted and quickly covered her mouth with her hand to keep from spitting water across the table. "You're lying."

"Would I lie? To you?"

"I'll ask the children when they get here. I can trust them," she said.

He kissed her earlobe. "You can trust me." His breath tickled her neck. "I know I can," she said with a smile.

Their heads were together when Dylan and Eva came in. Jack's arm was around Rose; their clasped hands rested on their knees. Rose looked up as they approached. "Dylan," she said. "And—that doesn't sound like Lily's step." She turned toward Jack. "It isn't," he said. "I think you were right."

"Um, Mom, this is Eva," Dylan said. Rose stood up and offered her hand. Eva stared at it. Her skin is perfect. She can't be—Eva stopped herself. You know what you want to say. Poor. She can't be poor with hands like that. Eva resisted the urge to look at her own hands. They were clean and manicured but three years of staying up all night sewing a new dress for the next day had taken their toll. But it would be rude to refuse the handshake so she took Rose's hand and let it go all in the same breath.

Jack almost offered her his but then thought better of it. The look that passed through her eyes when she saw Rose's outstretched hand was impossible to miss. There's something…familiar about her, he thought as she sat down. But that's crazy.

Lily rushed in a few minutes later, her bagful of books smacking against her legs with each step. "Sorry I'm late," she said dropping into the last empty chair. Her bag landed on the floor with a loud thud. "I was—" Her eyes widened. He actually brought her? Dylan had been hinting for weeks about bringing Eva to meet their parents, but each time he mentioned it she warned him not to. "Why shouldn't I?" he said the last time. "You think they won't like her?"

"It isn't that. She—"

"You like her, don't you? You introduced us!"

"I know I did. She's a wonderful person, but Dylan she—"

"No, that's it. You said it all right there. I don't want to hear anymore."

He doesn't know what he's doing, she thought. But he didn't want to listen. I tried. "What were you saying?" Rose asked. She could tell something was wrong from the way Lily had cut herself off. She touched Jack's knee under the table. Tell me. He squeezed her hand. I will when I know. They couldn't hear each other's thoughts, but sometimes it seemed like they could. Where once they had used looks and body cues now they used touch and vocal inflection to say what couldn't be said outright.

Jack studied Lily's face. Her eyes kept flicking from Eva to Dylan. "I was just saying that I lost track of time in the library," she said, forcing herself to look at Rose. "That's why I'm late." Rose just nodded. Her voice wasn't normal. It was a little too high, as though she had seen something that startled her. "Lily, you know Eva," Dylan said. There was a smirk in his tone. "Yes, I know her," Lily said, biting off the ends of her words.

Rose couldn't see the looks that crossed their faces, but she could feel the tension building. Jack, on the other hand, saw it all. What the hell is going on? he wondered. "Tell us about yourself, Eva," Rose said, smiling graciously. Eva hesitated, her confidence evaporating in the light of Rose's smile. There was something about the older woman that made her feel both drab and overdressed at the same time. It was annoying. She had always been the most elegant woman in the room; all eyes, male and female, immediately turned to her. Her clothes were the envy of every girl at Wellesley. They all wondered how she did it. Where did she get the money? It never occurred to any of them that she might have been not just prettier than them but also smarter, in some ways at least, the ways that counted. She had to be. And now here was this woman she had barely met destroying her entire sense of self without lifting one of those perfect hands. A lady's hands. Now she knew what they reminded her of. She has a lady's hands. But that didn't make sense. Not if what she had been told about—Oh God. She blushed hotly. Everyone was looking at her. "I—I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'm afraid my nerves are a bit rattled tonight." She lowered her eyes.

Rose nudged Jack under the table. He laid his hand, palm up, on her knee. She traced the word "lie" with her fingertip. He laced his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand. "I know," he said placing a slight emphasis on the words, "how difficult things must be right now." He shot a smile at Lily. "Lily doesn't seem to sit still at all anymore."

"She's a busy young woman," Eva said. "I could never have her energy."

"She's like her mother." Jack raised Rose's hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. Rose fought the urge to blush under his gaze. She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew exactly what was in them. Lily and Dylan didn't seem to notice anything was going on, but Eva couldn't believe what she was seeing. "Well, she certainly looks like her," she said. "And Dylan looks quite a lot like you."

"Oh no, no, no," Jack said quickly. "It's just the hair. He looks like Rose. They both do."

"Don't get him started," Dylan said. "Change the subject now or he'll never stop."

"What? It's true. You have her eyes and—" Rose leaned toward him. "Jack, why don't you describe something we all haven't seen and that won't frighten away this charming young woman? Or," she added, smiling slightly, "just something I haven't seen?"

Eva took a second look at Rose's eyes. Dylan did have her eyes; they were virtually the same except for one thing. She can't see! How could she have missed something like that? But she doesn't seem blind. She isn't wearing glasses like other blind people. And no-one else seems to notice. Except now that she looked closer she realized Jack hadn't stopped touching her once. He didn't just look at her when he talked, he moved closer to her. And Rose hadn't been looking at any of them; she had been listening to them.

"What do you want to see, miss?" Jack asked. Rose raised an eyebrow. "We're doing that again, are we?"

"Doing what—"

"Someone tell a story now," Lily said. "They'll go on like this all night otherwise."

Eva's cheeks hurt from laughing. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "You—you—" She couldn't get the words out. "You really did that?" she said finally. Jack grinned proudly. "Yes, she did." He kissed Rose's cheek. "That's not the least of what she's done."

"You're not telling that story!" Rose said.

"Why not, Rose Petal?"

"As if you have to ask." She turned to Eva. "You must be bored by now, I'm afraid." Eva shook her head. "Oh no, not at all!" she cried. In fact she couldn't remember the last time she had been so interested in anything. "Now I understand what Dylan meant when he said he hadn't really grown up anywhere."

"We weren't much for settling in anywhere," Rose said. "We still aren't really," she added with a quick laugh. "And you just came back from Morocco?" Eva said.

Rose nodded. "After two years. I don't think we ever stayed anywhere else that long. Did we Jack?"

A shadow crossed his face. "We stayed in Santa Monica for three years," he said slowly. "When we went back the second time." Rose pressed her hand against his. "We did, didn't we?" she said quietly. Lily and Dylan exchanged glances. Eva knew they were all thinking the same thing but no-one seemed willing—or able—to say whatever it was. "Tell a story, Eva," Dylan said finally. "You've heard all about us for an hour now."

"Oh, I couldn't. There's nothing to tell," she protested. "She shouldn't have to tell stories," Lily said. "She's supposed to be your guest." Dylan shot her a puzzled look. Why the sudden interest in keeping Eva quiet? "She doesn't have to if she doesn't want to," he said, keeping his eyes on Lily, "but we shouldn't discourage it."

Jack's grin made Eva momentarily forget where she was. She had been noticing his good looks more and more as the evening progressed, and now that he was looking straight at her with those blue eyes it was almost too much. It was like the way Dylan looked at her sometimes only intensified. A lock of sandy blonde hair fell into his eyes. He brushed it away. His hands are…perfect. They weren't like Rose's but instead had a beauty all their own. His skin was tanned. His well-defined arms and chest were obvious even through his shirt. Dylan had told her he was forty, but he looked closer to thirty. If that, she thought. Rose was supposed to be thirty-seven, but Eva couldn't see how. They're both so—so beautiful, she thought, amazed. Her parents weren't unattractive, but the years hung on them, especially her father, in a way she doubted they ever would Jack and Rose. "Don't listen to them," Jack said. "Just do what you want."

"Well, what would you like to know?" Eva said.

"Whatever you'd like to tell," Rose said kindly. "What is your family like?"

"There are just three of us, my mother and father and myself. I'm afraid we aren't nearly as interesting as you. My parents traveled when I was a child, but I seldom went along. We lived in the same place until I was fourteen, and then we moved here."

"What do your parents do now?" Rose asked.

"Well—" My mother isn't really a person anymore, and my father's best friend is a bottle of brandy. I think he may have gone a little insane in '29, but then again I didn't see him enough before then to really know. "I suppose you could say they're retired from life these days." There. That sounded good. It wasn't quite true, but it wasn't quite a lie either. Somehow she managed to keep the picture of her family within those lines for the rest of dinner. Everything seemed to be going perfectly until they stood up to leave. "That's more books than your mother makes me carry, Water-Lily," Jack said as Lily hoisted her bag over her shoulder. "It's not so many," she said. "And I carry my own books. You just read them for me," Rose said. '

Jack put an arm around her waist. "You won't let me carry them."

"That's an interesting name," Eva said. "Water-Lily."

"It's her real name," Dylan said. "They named her after a painting."

"Yeah, well, they named you after the guy that painted it," Lily said. "His middle name," she explained, turning to Eva, "is Monet."

"Dylan Monet Dawson." Eva said it slowly, letting the letters slide over her tongue. "And Water-Lily Dawson. I like it. Both of your names sound better than mine."

"What's wrong with Eva?" Dylan asked. "I like it."

"You haven't heard the whole thing. It's Eva Nicolette Hockley." A whole box of pins could have been dropped, and no-one but Eva would have noticed.